


An Unexpected Visitor

by claudia603



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-18
Updated: 2010-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-06 10:17:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudia603/pseuds/claudia603
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A stranger comes to Bag End.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unexpected Visitor

Frodo curled in his chair in front of the fireplace and pulled a coverlet over his feet. They ached dreadfully, he was ashamed to admit.  If Bilbo were here, he would call Frodo soft, and insist that he take daily walks.

“Do not let yourself become portly and soft, my lad,” Bilbo had always said. “There is danger out in the wide world and though I hope you never see it, you should never be caught unaware…Not like I was that far distant day when Gandalf bid me a Good Morning.” Bilbo would chuckle and blow a few smoke rings.  “I shall never forget it, my lad.”

And of course Frodo would beg to hear the story again, and of course Bilbo would happily tell it again.

The last few days Frodo had been hunting mushrooms, traveling alone through the woods of the central Shire to do so. He had actually slept outdoors several nights, which was unheard of for a hobbit.  He had just returned to Bag End, too exhausted even to unpack, too exhausted to cook the mushrooms he had found.  Such wonderful treasures could be found far from where ordinary hobbits liked to wander! Large succulent mushrooms with curved tops, nearly the size of a large plate and oh so flavorful! He could not wait to make a soup out of them, though he was much too exhausted right now.

He drowsed in his blanket, soothed by the sound of the crackling twigs. The book he had been reading slipped from his hands, and the thud it made as it hit the ground jolted his eyes open again.  The sparks in the fireplace swirled in orange mesmerizing patterns, and it was not long before his eyes closed again.

A battering on his door stunned him awake again, and he jumped to his feet, disoriented. He could not tell how long he had slept.  Was it morning already?  His heart thudded as he looked around the room.  The fire had died to almost nothing, and he shivered.  It was still dark outside, so at least he knew it was not morning.

He crept cautiously to the door. Had he really heard a knocking or had he dreamed it? Just as he nearly reached the door, the battering started again, startling him so badly that he stumbled backward and fell, landing on his backside. He climbed to his feet again, creeping carefully to the door again.

“Who is it?” he squeaked, but nobody answered. He dared a peek out his window and nearly stumbled back again at the nasty shock he got.  A huge, hulking shadow -- one of the Big Folk!  He clutched his arms to himself, turning in a nervous circle. What should he do? He had never met one of the Big Folk, though Bilbo had told tales of meeting many on his journey to the Lonely Mountain.

The battering sounded again.  “Let me in, Mr. Baggins,” a harsh voice broke in. How did this Man know his name?  A fear so terrible clutched at his stomach that his legs nearly gave out.  

“Please go away!” Frodo cried, hoping his voice did not tremble.  “I do not know you!”

Frodo looked outside the window again. If this Man wanted to break down his door, he could.  And he appeared to have a long sword attached to his waist. It seemed foolish to bolt the door and hope he would go away.

“Enough of this foolishness!” the Man said.  “I must speak with you immediately.”

“All right then,” Frodo said, trying to stabilize his frightened breaths.  “Half a moment.”

He opened the round green door.

Seeing the Man towering above him, filling his door, caused his legs at last to give out, and he stumbled back, falling to his knees.  

My word, he thought, the sword he wears must be as tall as me!  

The Man was filthy, as if he had been traveling for days on end without a bath. His eyes were gray, piercing, and he held in his hand a burlap sack that Frodo immediately recognized as--

Had he forgotten his mushrooms outside? He had been so exhausted when he returned home that anything was possible.

“Are these yours?” the Man’s voice was harsh, and his eyes gleamed ominously.

Frodo’s throat filled and his stomach turned cold. Perhaps he had inadvertently trespassed on the Man’s property, though he had never heard of one of the Big Folk living in the Shire. If he yelled for help now, nobody would probably hear him, not at this hour.  And he would not want to put any of his neighbors into danger. This Man looked awfully dangerous, as if he take down a dozen hobbits with his eyes blindfolded.

“I am sorry,” Frodo said, walking backward through his hallway. “Please don’t hurt me. I will pay you for them if they—“

The Man ducked under the doorway and  came inside, seeming to fill the whole foyer.  “Mr. Baggins, I do not care where you got the mushrooms. I only found them outside your door. I am not going to hurt you.”  He shook his head grimly. “If I had thought a hobbit as adventurous as yourself would be so fearful of Men, I would have arrived in a more gentle manner.”

“Who…who…” Frodo glanced again at the long sword and the multitude of other weapons on his belt. He could not imagine why the Man thought he was adventurous as his latest mushroom hunting escapade was as much of an adventure as he had ever had.  “Who are you?”

Rainwater dripped from the Man’s cloak all over the wood floor.

“I am called Strider,” the Man said, holding out a huge calloused hand.  Frodo inched toward him, offering back his own trembling hand, feeling terribly small and soft.  Strider squeezed his hand gently and smiled for the first time.

“And they said…” Strider looked puzzled, studying Frodo from his hairy toes to his curly head. “They said you aged well, but this…this is unheard of.”

“What are you talking about?” Frodo’s curiosity was beginning to override his fear.  “But first, hang up your cloak. You are making a small puddle on my floor. I will stir up the fire.  There is a chair in the sitting room that Gandalf uses when he comes to visit. I apologize that a hobbit hole is no place for a…one of your size. And I fear I have no dry clothes that I can offer you that would possibly fit you.”

The Man chuckled, and his eyes softened for the first time. “I am used to much worse, Mr. Baggins. But a fire sounds wonderful.”

Soon Strider was settled in front of a roaring fire with Frodo’s coverlet wrapped around him, sipping blackberry tea.  Frodo had lit a fragrant candle that as it burned, unfurled the scent of vanilla to counteract the stench of Strider’s travel clothes.

Frodo perched on the arm of the big chair kept for Gandalf’s visits and looked at Strider in curiosity.  “So what brings you to Bag End?”

Strider sighed, looking into the fire.  “I am a Ranger of the West, Bilbo, and—“

“Bilbo?” Frodo said, taken aback. “You think I am Bilbo?”

Strider startled and turned sharply to Frodo.  “Are you not Bilbo Baggins?”

“Oh, dear me, no!”  Nobody had ever mistaken him for Bilbo. The very idea was so absurd that he could not help but laugh.

Strider did not seem amused, and he grabbed Frodo’s shoulder. “Why did you then answer to his name?”

Frodo’s laughter faded under the harshness that had crept back in the Ranger’s voice. He cringed under the sharp fingers that dug into his shoulder, but he feared to struggle. “Let me go…” he finally managed, but Strider seemed too distressed to notice how much he was frightening his small host.  Frodo finally wrenched himself out of the grip and jumped from the arm of the chair, massaging his now sore shoulder.  

“I must go at once then,” Strider said, standing to his full height. “I have been misinformed.”

“Bilbo left three months ago,” Frodo gasped. “What do you want with him? I am Frodo, his cousin.”

Strider’s face suddenly clouded with concern.  “Frodo?” He brushed Frodo’s curls from his face.  “Frodo Baggins?”

Frodo nodded, still feeling somewhat wary of Strider and his changing moods.

“I apologize for my rudeness,” Strider said.  “Please forgive me. You must be the dear Frodo that Bilbo spoke of long ago on one of his trips to Rivendell. He was about to adopt you at that time.”

“I think that is where Bilbo is now,” Frodo said with a smile.  “Though I have heard no word from him.” He looked up at Strider, smile fading.  “Is something amiss? Is Bilbo in danger?”

“No…” Strider cupped Frodo’s chin in his hand. “No. It is only that Elrond has asked me to find him as soon as possible.”

“Elrond…” Frodo said with a small gasp of wonder as he followed Strider into the foyer.  “Elrond of Rivendell?”

Strider smiled.  “Yes.  He is very fond of Bilbo.”

“Oh…I shan’t keep you then,” Frodo said, now rather disappointed that the exciting stranger had to leave.  He would have dearly loved to press him further about everything in the outside world.

“I apologize for frightening you,” Strider said, turning to him.  “Had I known you were not accustomed to folk from outside the Shire, I would have entered more carefully.”

“It is all right,” Frodo said, gathering Strider’s cloak from the hook. It was still damp but at least not soaking wet. Strider nodded his thanks and wrapped it around him.  Frodo marveled at Strider’s height, as he could not stand to his full height in the foyer or he risked knocking his head on the rafters.  “You are welcome to come back any time. In fact, I should love it dearly if when you have time…” Frodo flushed at his own clumsiness.  “Of course, I know you have much better things to do with your time than have tea with a silly hobbit.”

Strider kneeled, his eyes gleaming keenly in the dim light.  “There is nothing I would want more than to visit with you, Frodo.  I promise I will return when I can.”

He embraced Frodo and kissed his forehead, startling the hobbit, who had not expected such affection from the grim Ranger.  “Stay well, Frodo Baggins.”

“You, too,” Frodo said.  

Strider stooped through the front door and strode into the darkness, his boots making no more noise than hobbit feet.  Frodo watched until the tall shadow faded into the rainy night.

“Well, that was certainly odd,” Frodo said with a bemused smile. He dearly hoped he would get another chance to talk to Strider.  



End file.
